Sunday, December 15, 2013

TRAPPED Sunday Serial~Part Two

Part Two
We drive there, go through the turnstiles, and I see Bill Myrey.
I think everybody in Phantom City knows who Bill Myrey is.  He’s got a long gray ponytail with a weird streak of pink (don't ask me why) through it.  He always wears a blue jumpsuit, and he’s always brandishing a wrinkly broom even when he’s not on duty.  And he always waits in front of the turnstiles.
But when I go through the turnstiles and see him, I gasp.
For once, he’s not wearing a blue jumpsuit.  He’s wearing a black leather jacket and black jeans and a black T-shirt.  There’s a black beanie covering the ponytail, which leaves a funny-shaped hump on the top of his head.  But he still has his broom.
“Hey, Bill,” I say.
Of all the people who think they know Bill, I’m pretty sure he actually knows and appreciates me.  Probably because he can tell that I’m not too happy about PFP either.  
Bill has this weird unrequited hate towards PFP and everybody associated with it.  So he always growls at the visitors, and whenever an employee, like, tries to talk to him, he always shouts, “I’m not here because I want to be!  I’m just here because I’m getting paid.”
Nobody’s quite sure why Bill hates PFP.  But everybody knows that he does.
He actually smiles at me.  “Hello, Emily.”
“What’s up with the black?” I ask.
He shrugs, still smiling.  “Just felt like it.”
Something’s weird, because 1) Bill Myrey never smiles, and 2) Bill Myrey never wears black.
But I shake everything off, because, well--it’s Wednesday, he must be feeling a little bit off.  I think everybody feels off on Wednesday.  You’re halfway through the week but you’ve still got a couple days to go before Friday, and Saturday, and Sunday.
Enough to make a person pretty depressed.
“Where to first?” my mom says cheerfully as we head under a tunnel thing into the actual amusement park.
It’s a pointless question, of course.  Nobody answers, because everybody knows what we're going to do first. We walk past another person dressed in black, kind of like Bill Myrey.  Except this person’s a woman.  Her skin’s extremely pale and her hair is inky black.  She’s wearing a lot of eyeliner.
Yet another person depressed by Wednesday...or something else.  I blink at her.  What is going on? I ask myself silently.  Is it a new trend or something?
There’s a man next to her, but instead of black, he’s dressed in all blue.  I think he’s wearing a suit (I can’t tell, because all of the blue blends in with everything), and he has a walkie-talkie in his hand.  It squawks, and he looks around, nervously, before answering in a low voice.
My parents and Courtni haven’t seemed to notice anything, although I note that my dad’s eyes are flicking over to the woman and the man many times.  
I walk closer to the duo.
The woman shoots me a dirty look as I brush by her, but I say, “Sorry!  I’m in a hurry!” in a loud, fluty voice.
And under the cover of my words, I hear the walkie-talkie squawk out, “Diversion at 5:30 p.m.”
Diversioin?  Diversion?  What is this, some police training exercise? Or is it something more?  I hope that I've heard wrong...but then, my ears almost never lie.  I give out a nervous whinny and rush to the bathroom, where I lean against a stall, breathing hard.
There’s something going on, and I do not like it.

We, as always, go to the Phantom FunCoaster.  
But, weirdly, the line is, like, way too long for a Wednesday. Believe me. I've been at PFP enough times to know that a twenty-minute wait on a Wednesday is practically unheard of.
“Is there something going on here?” Courtni asks.
My parents shrug, but there's fear in their eyes.
“There’s another guy dressed in all black,” I comment, pointing.  
This guy is on a walkie-talkie too, but he’s dressed more like a skater dude than Anna Kendrick.  He has low-riding black skinny jeans that sag down and reveal plaid underpants (Come on!  Hasn’t he heard of the ridicule of Pants on the Ground?) and a black leather jacket exactly like Bill Myrey’s.  
“There’s a lady dressed in all yellow,” Courtni says.
“And a girl dressed in all pi--”  A girl?  
She looks like she’s my age, with curly honey blond hair.  She’s bouncing up and down like she can’t wait to go on the ride. Her physique is athletic and she looks coordinated. Unlike me.
That’s when it hits me.
“Flash mob,” I say, but there’s still a little pinprick of foreboding in my brain.  I push it away.  I’m worrying for nothing.
My parents and Courtni look relieved.
“That’s it,” my mom says, sighing as if a weight has been lifted off her shoulders.
I can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong, but what can I do? Go up to somebody and ask if there's something going on?  We stand in line for the twenty minutes, then get into our coaster cars.
I sit there, strapped in, and we start to go.  The air whooshes past my face, and I brace myself for the first monster.
Only it never comes.
There’s a little bit of murmuring, but all I hear is the cheesily scary music playing through the speakers by my headrest.  And all I see is darkness.
We travel in some dips and turns, but there aren’t any monsters.  At all.  
Then, just as we near the end of the dark tunnel, I feel my strap being undone and a rough arm grabs me out of the car.
I hurtle through the darkness, hoping that I’m not about to die.

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